Into the Night
by Winter's Melancholy
Summary: When you piss your hormonal, pregnant wife off right before Christmas, it's not going to be a sight to behold. Ron struggles with the first Christmas he ever spends with his wife as a married man, and ends up in a bar with an old friend. A simple one-shot for the season, dedicated to Scherzkeks. Merry Christmas, one and all.


Merry Christmas, you. I'm really sorry I couldn't finish on time, nor could I write a DraMione fic as well. I hope you enjoy this, though. I tried my hardest to making it something you'd like, and I tried to put everything you wanted for it into the piece. I'm hoping that you enjoyed your Christmas, and I hope you have a happy new year as well. (: God bless.

I disclaim, for J.K. Rowling is a name so mighty that none could ever challenge her. Harry Potter and its associated characters belong to her and her only. I am merely an artist dabbling with her set of paints.

Without further ado, enjoy.

It was a chilly evening, the city of London, as always, ever so bright over the Thames. Despite the heavy and cold air, the lights of the city remained inviting. While it was a relatively cold night, late in December, there was a lack of snow that night, evident in the fact that nothing at all was shrouded in a layer of white that evening. In a rather nondescript part of the city, in a small alley near the riverside, a loud 'crack' was heard, as a dark-haired man appeared out of nowhere. Clad in a long, black jacket, leather gloves, and dark coloured trousers, with his long and messy hair hiding most of his forehead, he looked rather unostentatious. Putting his gloved hands into his pocket, he walked slowly out of the alley, and made a right turn, trudging along the pavement until a small pub called 'The Horse and Dragon' came into view.

Strolling in calmly as ever, he was greeted with a familiar gush of warm, heated air, and the pleasant chatter of the patrons filling his ears, a stark contrast from the relative quiet of the streets outside. The darkened interior of the pub and the warm lighting made it rather homely, as was noticed by the man. He approached the bar counter slowly, sat down, and ordered a simple Irish beer, relaxing into the atmosphere as he waited for someone else to appear, his gaze occasionally moving to the door as a new patron entered through it every ten or so minutes.

Eventually, after approximately half an hour of waiting, the bar door came open, this time revealing a rather tall man with an ever familiar mop of reddish-brown hair. His unorthodox black robe did draw the attention of a few pubgoers, but most others mostly ignored him. Looking around, he scanned the area until he saw a familiar face, and approached the bar counter, waving slightly as he did, the scowl on his face somewhat softening as he saw his old friend. Sitting himself on the bar counter, he requested a pint of beer, much like his friend, and finally turned to face the man he had requested to meet.

"Ron." The black haired man greeted.

"It's been some time, hasn't it, Harry? Two weeks?" Ron absentmindedly scratched the back of his head as he sat down, comfortably relaxing into the surroundings but with the same look of unease on his face that he normally had when he was distracted by something.

His best friend picked up on his dark look, and replied, "I don't think you asked to meet me at ten in the evening, two hundred miles from your house in some random muggle bar in order to 'catch up', did you, Ron," sighed Harry, a slightly annoyed look on his face. "What's wrong, now? And why the bloody location? It's Christmas, damn it," he added.

"Well, we've been here before, on one of your birthdays, I remember, and well…" Ron looked a little embarrassed, "I wanted to test the new broom Ginny got me for Christmas and all-"

"So you interrupted the time I could have spent enjoying my night with your sister to test a broom?" The dark-haired wizard inquired, his face sceptical, with an eyebrow raised.

"Well, you see-"

"Let me guess, Hermione?" Harry interrupted his friend yet again.

Ron, visibly irritated, grunted. "Yes, it's the _wife_."

At this, Harry visibly shook, a small chortle escaping him.

"She's 'The _Wife_', now, is she?" he teased lightly.

"Bloody 'ell, Harry! She called me _Ronald_! _Ronald Bilius effin' Weasley_!" Ron tensed, annoyed. His best friend knew he hated being called that, and had to stop himself from laughing heartily at his predicament. Harry's face, however, darkened from a look of mirth as he realised what had happened to his friend.

"You two got into a tiff again, now didn't you?" He asked, looking rather concernedly at his friend.

"I blame those whatchamacallits, Harry. Whores?" Said Ron, somewhat annoyed at his situation, and also the fact that he forgot the term for those blasted things.

At this, Harry couldn't help but laugh. "_Hormones_, you mean, Ron?" At this, his friend nodded slightly, grunting a little to acknowledge it. "So," he continued, "You decided to piss off your two-month pregnant wife on Christmas Eve?"

"Well, all I wanted was to decorate the house the easy way…" Ron retorted. "I didn't expect what happened to actually happen." With yet another one of his annoyed grunts, he proceeded to mumble out, somewhat sheepishly, the circumstances that resulted in their little clash. Harry ordered another pint of beer for both him and his friend, pretty sure that the alcohol would help the words flow better.

The clock rewinds to a few hours earlier, to a beautiful sight in a neat country house in the South-West of England. Right down the road from his family home, The Burrow, stood Ron and Hermione's little abode. They had just returned from a short trip to Hermione's parents' house in Cornwall, right before Christmas. Entering their own home, Ron set up the logs and firewood and Hermione started the flames on the kindling at the fireplace with small incantations and quick little waves of their wands, almost in sync with each other. Walking over to the fireplace, Hermione began to fuss over decorating the home for Christmas, wondering about this and that, until Ron hugged her from behind, diffusing her worry and suggesting that they use magic to set the decorations up to save them the effort and tiredness.

Hermione, being born into a muggle family, and used to the bonding that Christmas decorating brought to the family, however, was against it. It was their first Christmas together as a married couple in their own home, and she wanted it to be special. She wanted to have fond memories of it, and of course, thus suggested instead to manually decorate it, without magic.

Ron, however, was tired from travelling (he had taken the car at Hermione's suggestion), and somewhat rudely asserted that they use magic instead.

Of course, the unstable time bomb of hormones that was Hermione would not put up with would not put up with his laziness, and her reaction was simple- she exploded, escalating a small issue into something akin to World War Three. Ron, being the hard-headed, hot-tempered man he was, did not back down, escalating it closer and closer to a nuclear holocaust.

That was until she had told him to get out. He, in a fit of anger, yanked his broom, the aforementioned present from Ginny, off the wall, and flew off into the night in a rage, leaving his weeping wife at the door, softly crying out his name into the night. She retreated into the house, tears running down her face, as her husband called up Harry for a drink at the bar as soon as he reached a payphone.

And so, Ron finished his recounting of his situation, a good two hours and three pints of beer later. It was now past midnight, and Ron was much less tense about the situation than when he entered the bar hours earlier.

"And so, I have no idea what to do. She kicked me out of the bleedin' house," Ron mumbled, somewhat dejectedly now that his story was spent.

Harry, obviously somewhat annoyed that the fight had been about something so trivial, replied slowly. "You think she meant it, Ron? She's your _wife_, for Heaven's sake. She loves you, that much I know, and I'm pretty damned sure she didn't mean it. Do you think you'd ask the love of your life to get out just like that and be _serious _about it? God, you're dense." He shook the red-haired wizard, and continued berating him. "Hell, Ron. If you were less hot tempered, I'm pretty damned sure something like this wouldn't have even happened. Do you even know how much hurt you've singlehandedly managed to put her through? Did you know how heartbroken she was when you ran off the first time, during our travels all those years ago? You repeated all of that again today, and I'm pretty bloody sure she probably feels as bad as she felt all those years ago, maybe worse. She _loves_you, Ron, and you just ruined her first Christmas as a married woman for her."

Ron shook his head lightly, somewhat shocked at his best friend's outburst. Harry seemed on the verge of punching him. As he regained his composure, he took in what Harry said, and mumbled a quick, 'Thanks Harry' before running out of the bar. Running into an alley, he ripped the broom out of his wallet (His wife had cast an extension charm on it before giving it to him a few years back for his birthday), and flew off for what was to be the second time that night.

Harry, noting that Ron probably realised what he did to his own wife, sighed at the door, walking out a few minutes after finishing his own beer, hoping that Ron knew what he had to do.

He too, walked into the alley, apparating away back to his house. He hoped Ginny wouldn't be so cross with him for leaving midway through their night on such short notice.

As the sun rose on the next day, a tired Hermione awoke. Her face, tear-streaked from having cried herself to sleep the night before, clearly indicated she wasn't feeling like a million dollars this Christmas morning. With a depressed sigh, she walked into the bathroom she and Ron shared, to wash her face and shower, wishing lightly that she'd see her love downstairs when she was done.

After a quick wash up, she changed into a new set of clothes, and walked down the stairs into the living room. She was greeted by a living room entirely unfamiliar to her, completely different from the messy place that was the scene the night before. There were bunches of holly hung from the walls, stockings placed neatly by the fireplace. A small and real Christmas tree stood in the corner of the room, where there had only been dust the night before, beautifully decorated with small lights sparkling all over it, fake snow and ornaments sprayed and hung all over it. It was a beautiful sight to behold, as her entire living area was decorated like Hogwarts was back in her days in the Gryffindor common room. Looking around, she noticed everything was tidied up, and a quick glance to the couch revealed a sleeping form on it.

She walked towards the couch, and saw Ron, fast asleep. He was still in the clothes he wore the day before, and smelt faintly of beer and perspiration. A mild look of indignation crossed her face before her gaze softened, and an equally soft smile graced her face. In his hands, Ron held a small star, beautifully adorned with small plastic gems. It seemed like something he had bought from a departmental store, and she looked lovingly at him as she bent down to grab the star from his hands.

Just as she pried the star out of her husband's sleeping arms, she jumped back, as he stirred, rising from the couch in his sleep. His gaze passed over to her, and he smiled lightly.

"Morning, Love," Ron began. "I'm really… I don't know what came over me last night, and I guess what I'm trying to say is… I'm sorry." He rubbed the back of his bed hair, and stood up, slowly walking over to where his slightly shocked wife stood.

"I sort of, y'know, decorated the house as an apology. By hand. I'm not exactly very good at it, though…" He gave a childish grin, as Hermione gave him the once over. She realised that he had gotten glitter stuck all over his clothes, along with a patch of canned snow on his trousers. She, however, appeared somewhat unmoved by all of his actions, and just stood there, rooted to the ground.

"Her-Hermione?" Ron quizzically looked at her.

She snapped out of her trance, and smashed into him, giving him a crushing, wordless hug as acceptance of his apology, and began sobbing lightly into his shoulder.

After about five minutes of remaining in the comfort of his arms, she finally let go, and mumbled an apology as well. She turned to look at the window, and then quietly said, "It's snowing."

Wordlessly, Ron took her hand, and they walked out of the door to their home. They stood in the driveway to their house, admiring the snow and each other's company. Seeing that she was beginning to shiver, he took off his coat, holding it over her shoulders. At that, he took something out of his pocket, putting an arm around his wife's shoulder, and holding the other above their heads.

"Hermione?" He asked, snapping her out of her admiration at the scenery.

"Hmm?" She replied.

"Look up."

She did, and saw a small branch of mistletoe being held up above both their heads by Ron's free arm.

"Merry Christmas, love." Ron leaned in, and kissed his wife tenderly. Expecting it, and clearly wanting to reciprocate it, Hermione deepened the kiss, and they soon fell over into the snow, rolling and ending one on top of each other until they ran out of air. They reluctantly ended the kiss, seeing that the both of them were starting to get cold and out of breath, and walked back in through the door, where they both knew two mugs of hot chocolate would be in order.

'_I love you, and that is all I know.'_


End file.
